


Lifeline

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester-centric, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8609938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: It's eleven digits in loopy handwriting that remind him someone else cared, if only for a fraction of a moment.It's enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This made its way into my brain after watching Markiplier's playthrough of [Don't Take This Risk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfCBOaqL7AU). It just got me on this train of thought, and got me thinking about the crisis line, and then got me thinking about Sam.
> 
> Mind the warnings; the references to suicide are pretty vague, but they're there.
> 
> I wrote this for day 324 of my 365 challenge, too.

Sam keeps the number tucked away in his wallet, scribbled on a crumpled-up receipt from a diner four states back. It’s hidden behind his picture of Mom, and it’s unlabelled; eleven digits in pretty, loopy handwriting that doesn’t belong to him.

“Promise you’ll call,” she’d said very quietly while Dean was in the bathroom. A waitress; couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. He’s confused and alone and apprehensive but she presses it into his hand, all the same. “If you need to. They can help.”

Maybe she’d read something in his eyes, a century older than his body should allow. Maybe the slump in his shoulders or the creases across his forehead. Maybe it’s the way he’s still digging his thumb into the middle of his hand as if the wound hadn’t healed years ago; it’s an obvious tell even from an outside observer’s perspective. Maybe she just knows the type.

He doesn’t say a word and he ducks his head and then his brother’s back, all goofy smiles and flirting with the girl, even though she might be a decade younger than him. Sam doesn’t mention the number, but he doesn’t throw it out, either.

The first time he calls, he hangs up very quickly.

“You’ve reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Please wait while we connect-”

He has no explanation for the way his heart is suddenly pounding right at the back of his throat, but he nearly disposes of the number right then and there (as if he hasn’t burned those numbers into his memory already). Dean’s out, and Sam’s by himself, and- and sometimes he can’t help the way his thoughts wander, to Lucifer and the Cage and the trials and Gadreel and-

He’s… he’s got a lot of memories.

It takes another three tries before he manages to stay on the line long enough to speak to a real person, and her voice kind of reminds him of Jessica.

The plastic of the phone creaks in his hand and he doesn’t make it very long before his eyes are wet with tears. He doesn’t know what to say, because he shouldn’t be here. Other people need this service more than he does; people who deserve to live. People who haven’t screwed up so much, people who don’t need to just suck it up and move on. Sam’s a big boy now, and he shouldn’t be this weak, but-

But she still helps him, and she still listens, and she doesn’t hang up when his breath starts hitching and he starts to cry.

When Sam ends the call, it’s with a lighter chest and a pair of lungs that don’t fail him. It’s with every single horrible thought still digging their claws into the fragile fabric of his being, but with a single, louder voice speaking over them, soft and warm and healing.

“You matter, Sam. There are people out there who care about you, and they want you to stay safe. They want to help you. I promise. You just need to let them try.”

He hugs Dean as soon as his brother walks in the door, and though he gets some surprised grumbling in response, it doesn’t take very long for a pair of strong, safe arms to curl around him, just as tight.

“You aren’t dying or something, are you?” Dean asks him suspiciously, and Sam just hides his face in his brother’s neck, eyes screwed shut. “You’d tell me if you were dying?”

Sam feels a little bit like he’s been dying for a long time, now, but this makes it just a tiny bit better. Maybe it’s worth fighting another day.

The number doesn’t leave his wallet, even when he doesn’t need to read it before dialing anymore. Eleven digits in loopy handwriting that remind him someone else cared, if only for a fraction of a moment. Sam tries to breathe that in, sometimes, between the guilt and the loathing and the regret, and sometimes- some days- it manages to filter through, fitting its way very gently into that gouged-out space beside his heart, the same one in which his brother resides with the precious handful of other people who love him.

There are very few things that make everything worth it; the pain, the loss, and the part of him that just wants to take that all away and replace it with something blissful and empty. But those very few things- those people, and those feelings, and those experiences- those things are what keep him clinging to this Earth, and some days, Sam needs someone else to remind him why he bothers. Some days, he can’t do it alone.

Some days, he is very, very thankful that there are people who want to help.

_1-800-273-8255_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and just try to remember- if you need help, there are people out there willing and able to provide it. Please reach out if you're having a hard time, because someone cares, and someone will listen. That number at the end is the one for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. 
> 
> (Also, my Tumblr disclaimer: I don't know how they answer those phones or how they talk to the people who call, so I just took my best shot at guessing.)


End file.
